Mistakes and Butterflies
by Rebecca Pierce
Summary: She was sitting there, all pretty and strong and overall tall in all her petiteness. She was a dab of lip gloss, a subtle smirk, the most violet shade of naïve. . .
1. Mistakes and Butterflies

**A/N**: There's always a chance. . . no?

**Disclaimer**: If I owned them, the world would plunge into chaos and disharmony. . . like my room.

**Summary: **

She was sitting there, all pretty and strong and overall tall in all her petiteness. She was a dab of lip gloss, a subtle smirk, the most violet shade of naïve. She was everything and nothing at once, blending into a crowd and yet standing out in a way only she would know how to.

She was chaos on the wings of a butterfly.

She was Rukia Kuchiki.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

The first time was a mistake. . . at least that was what he told himself. He was drunk and she was there, and the world was a blur of pain and anger and an agony he didn't know existed until his long-time girlfriend decided that he wasn't worth nearly as much as her career.

"**You look down."**

She was a collision.

When he first kissed her, she didn't relent like he figured she would, afraid of the strength and calculated coldness he put into his touch.

"**Hmph." **

She met him head-on.

When he pinned her to the wall of his dark apartment room, she didn't back down, she didn't even flinch, but just smirked that little smirk he had yet to understand, and then she shoved him back onto his own bed, and then things were a blur again as the anger faded into a contest of wills.

"**I found my boyfriend with a friend of mine. . ." She hesitated, a tired smile on her features as her gaze lazily drifted to her reflection in the mirrors behind the shelves of liquor before them. "Heh. I guess I had it coming."**

He didn't know when his tie came undone, or when his shirt ended up on the floor next to her dress, but for the first time in ages, he truly didn't care. There was chaos and confusion and yet it all seemed right in some way, drowning not in sorrow for once, but in recklessness and a deep sense of escape he had forgotten even existed before this-before the darkness that had smothered him the whole of three agonizing months.

"**I don't know you, I don't care."**

She was a shallow breath, a shiver down his spine, a long caress that didn't melt the ice but actually pierced it through the core and shattered it to bits effortlessly. Still, Rukia was herself in some ways the epitome of a snowflake's seeming frailty- and the very picture of a snowstorm's sharp touch.

**A clinking of ice as she shook the cup, and then a smirk. "I'm glad we agree then."**

It was freedom.

**Silence, a glance, and then the realization that her cup had gone empty. Gesturing to the barman, he jerked his head in her direction. "On me."**

**She smiled. **

Even when he awoke the next morning to an empty bed and Momo's picture turned facedown on his nightstand, he couldn't help but wonder if she had been a dream. Because no matter how many times he told himself it had happened (in a very logical look at his memory and the whopping hangover), he couldn't help but feel that she wasn't real at all, but a figment of his mind in a desperate attempt for warmth through the ice that Momo had left behind.

"**So what's your name?"**

There was a lingering scent of cherry blossom perfume, but that was about the only trace of a visitor ever being in his apartment.

"**Toushiro Hitsugaya." He answered. "You?"**

"**Rukia Kuchiki." She answered. "I like moonlight poetry and long walks on the beach."**

So he went to the restaurant again.

**He couldn't help the subtle lopsided grin at her sarcasm. **

While sitting there alone, waiting, watching, he didn't really need to turn to look for her. There was something about her gaze that he could pick out, something that irked him last night and yet no matter how he tried to ignore it, it never ceased to give him chills to the core.

And he liked it.

"_You came back." _She said in a nonchalant voice as she leaned up against the bar counter.

He didn't like her skirt today. It was a black pencil skirt that reached to about her knees, but the way it hugged her body sent the wrong message out. . . it mystified his already muddled head. There were more eyes on her when she had walked over than he thought she realized.

It bothered him for some reason.

"_So did you." _He retorted effortlessly as he took a sip of his vodka.

When she sat down next to him, it surprised him. He wasn't supposed to be right; he should have been able to come in and take a drink, and be able to deduce he had been stupid and having very VERY vivid dreams. And that her talking to him had just been. . . his head playing tricks on him again.

But that perfume was unmistakable.

"_So what brings you here?"_

It was that smirk again, the same little spark of defiance evident in her gaze as her eyes met his. She knew-it was just that easy, she _knew_. And no matter how hard he had tried to stay away, he couldn't do it for the sake of proving himself wrong (even though in a deep dark corner of his mind he silently hoped to just see her again).

His hand clenched around the cup he was grasping, and for a second he hesitated before his icy turquoise eyes fell on her.

"_The escape." _Her gaze didn't waver under his cold scrutiny. Instead, the depth of her violet orbs held a challenge that surprised him.

It should've ended there, she should've walked away, things should've died that night.

But they didn't.

Because she was there, and she wasn't a dream, and dear God, she was _real_. And no matter what happened, he just couldn't _not_ come into the restaurant every night to find her there.

But the worst part was, he didn't want to stop.

"_You're like a dragon." _Momo had told him once, _"You're strong, and fierce, and so powerful in your own way." _

She had confessed to loving him for that once.

But now, here, with a butterfly in his grasp he couldn't help but feel like the dragon he had been envisioned to be. He felt strong, he felt powerful, and he felt for once, in control of something.

He became addicted.

He'd take her out on dates, he'd spend time with her, he was obsessed with her to the point of no return. Because unlike Momo, she matched his power, she didn't flinch when he yelled but instead grew angry herself, and when she felt that he was wrong, she let him know it.

And when Toushiro thought about it, running a hand through his white hair, he couldn't quite pinpoint when it had happened, when he started caring how short her skirts were, or how revealing her dresses were. It was just something that couldn't be helped at this point. Granted, when he demanded she change she wouldn't, but he couldn't help but wonder if she really wore those clothes for the sake of making him go insane with jealousy whenever someone so much as even glanced at her.

Because she knew it.

And it scared him sometimes, how easily he had fallen to his knees for her.

But there was something there, some unexpected and undefined challenge she held that just captivated him and plunged him in a curiosity that was completely insatiable.

_Can you handle my defiance, Toushiro? Can you bring me to my knees?_

And no matter how much his lips ran over her porcelain skin, or how deeply he drowned in the depths of her violet eyes, he couldn't quite figure it out and it kept him coming back for more.

_I am a dragon, I am power, I am the embodiment of a challenge, Rukia. _

Her eyes became his light, her hands his strength, her body his eternal fascination.

_And I will defy chaos itself on your butterfly wings. _

She was everything and nothing, the very definition of complete chaos and beautiful disharmony.

_Love is such a pathetic word for this. . . don't you think Toushiro?_

But most of all. . .

_Love is overrated, Rukia. _

She was his.


	2. The Irony of Being Poor

**A/N**: More? Or have you had enough?

* * *

**The Irony of Being Poor**

* * *

The cafe was quiet as the sun began to warm the tabletop before the woman in the dusty pink blazer.

Her hands were shaking.

She looked up as a petite girl with short black hair and brave violet eyes headed her way, her small hands instinctively scrunching up the blue restaurant apron she was wearing as she dried her hands.

"Hi, how are you today?"

Momo couldn't find it in herself to answer with more than a weak attempt at a smile in return.

The waitress didn't miss a beat when she noted the response. "Looks like you need a heavy coffee to get you ready for the day, huh?"

Nodding, she uttered her order (toast and heavy black coffee) and took to looking out the cafe window at the people passing by. It was early Wednesday morning and she wasn't particularly looking forward to going through with her day. Still, she had already taken two days off and another would be unprofessional of her as a secretary.

She tried to block out her reflection: the bags under her eyes, the lack of brightness in her gaze, the paleness of her skin.

The last time she had looked this bad was when she had. . . _began _things with Sousuke.

She shivered.

He had used her, had extorted her in every way he possibly could. Even after he had been placed behind bars, she still couldn't help but look over her shoulder and fear at seeing his smiling face and the hand extended out to her.

Before she could possibly think of more ways to torture herself, the waitress came back and set down the steaming cup and a plate down beside it in front of her.

"Thank you."

"It's no problem. Oh," She dug a hand into one of the apron pockets and pulled out a handful of sugar packets and tiny cream cups, "here you go."

Momo couldn't help noting the twinkling gem on her finger. Following her gaze, the young woman smiled. "Going to be a wifey in a few months."

Her bright smile was just as contagious as it was painful. Momo could remember when she had also once had a ring on that finger, when she wondered how many children she would have and if any would have their father's piercing icy gaze--something she had never even began to dream about with Sousuke.

"It's beautiful, congratulations." She managed to grit out.

"Thanks. I'll let you eat now." The waitress said, grinning sheepishly as she blushed. "If you need anything, let me know."

Nodding, Momo watched her leave and turned her attention back to her breakfast.

After her boyfriend had been caught by the police in some illegal business deals, Momo was left on her own and with no money. What had saved her had been the few connections who had been nice enough to have mercy on her and give her a job back after she had thrown caution to the winds and let her affair become her life. She had left a loving fiance, a great job, and a loving home behind.

All for Sousuke Aizen.

For a while her life had been as glamorous as she had dreamed it would be. She would wake up in his arms, spend time out with his credit card (which he deemed limitless for her), and come back right before he would so that she would be at the door to welcome him home.

It seemed simple enough.

Then one day, she came home to find police talking to their butler. When she stepped out and demanded to know what was going on (like a good wife and housekeeper would do of course), her eyes widened to see her husband sitting in the back of one of the cars with his best friend Gin in another.

They didn't look at her.

In fact, it almost looked like they weren't really bothered by the matter.

Of course, being with such people had its effects on her life as well. The mansion she had grown used to was taken away--as was everything she had owned. She even had to be taken in as a suspect for a while, but they eventually let her go when they realized she was nothing but the stupid girlfriend for show.

Because now she realized and accepted that.

She had never failed to question why out of all the possible women he had chosen her. And when she was being brutally honest with herself, she could admit that she had been foolish, had left everything for him in the blink of an eye and became a pet that he could amuse himself with and have as a front to the world. To others they looked like a stable couple in love and about to get married, someone who would form the picture perfect family with a wife who had no idea what was really going on and never really bothering to question how exactly her card was limitless.

And then there were _those _nights.

They were rare, but she couldn't forget them; she never would.

There had been rare occasions when he would raise his hand to her, would leave marks that she hid under expensive clothing and the best make up. Maybe what scared her wasn't that he had the audacity to do it--but her own capacity to make excuses for him.

She always found ways to put the blame on herself for his acts.

The clink of the empty cup caught her attention. Looking down, she realized she had just eaten and couldn't even remember a bite of it. Even her stomach still felt empty.

"Another round of coffee?" She flitted in almost out of nowhere. And before Momo could even answer, she watched the waitress pour more into her cup and pull out another handful of creams.

"Seriously. This one should do the trick for you. If it doesn't, then maybe its worse than I thought." There was worry in her eyes as she smiled slightly and then left Momo alone again.

It didn't take her long to get through the second cup of coffee, and for some reason it left her more warm than she thought she could be in her current condition. It was almost as if the new day was beginning to welcome her instead of already punishing her with its passing.

Waving the waitress over, she offered her a half smile. "You were right. Second cup did the trick."

Grinning, the petite woman put the tab down on the table. "Great. I'm glad you feel better."

She paid and left as decent a tip as her small budget would allow and stepped towards the doorway with her purse in hand. As she was about to exit the cafe, she saw the other young woman pass her again and waved her aside on impulse.

"Thank you for everything, really. Mind if I know your name so I know who to ask for next time I come?"

The waitress' violet eyes widened slightly, but then she broke into a full fledged smile.

"My name is Rukia, Rukia Kuchiki." Momo nodded.

"Well," Rukia said, shrugging, "Rukia Hitsugaya if you want to start getting warmed up to it."

It felt as if someone had just released a bucket of ice water over Momo's head. Shock froze her to the spot.

Someone called to Rukia from the kitchen. Turning at the sound of her name, she didn't seem to notice Momo's sudden change.

"I'm being called, so I guess it's bye for now!" Waving, she turned and ran behind the main counter.

Momo slowly headed towards the door, numb to the sudden warmth of the sun's rays on her, or to the noise of the cars that passed by the intersection. Not even the homeless man that cursed at her for tripping over him caught her attention.

She could only think of the last name she had given up--the one a waitress in a cafe now would have with a ring to match the twinkle in her violet eyes. Only of that and the smile of a man with an icy gaze and hair as white as snow.

Hitsugaya.

Toushiro _and Rukia _Hitsugaya.

Walking towards her car, she couldn't really say she wished them happiness. So instead, she sat there in the morning hours when she should be fighting through morning traffic and cried.


End file.
